Snapshots
by teaandcharcoalforbreakfast
Summary: A series of short USUK drabbles, written mostly for the kink meme. Rated M because of suggestive themes.
1. Cheap Soap

**A/n:** No, I'm not dead (surprisingly). With all the deleting stuff going on, though, I'm trying to lay low until it blows over (If I disappear mysteriously, I have an account on Live Journal, the link to which is on my profile. All my stories are there). In the meantime, I'm writing some short drabbles to keep me busy, which I will be posting here in this story.

It's not fair for someone to smell as good as England does, it's just not! I don't even know what it is. He doesn't drown himself in cologne like France, he doesn't use fancy soaps like Austria, he doesn't let himself get all sweaty and then let the pheromones stick to his skin like Australia, he just- I don't know what he does. He smells… clean, I guess? Like, it's not just like soap, even though that's part of it. There's also a definite masculinity to it too, but again it's not overbearing. I think it might be sexier for that. It's not out there waving a big-ass flag and saying "Hey! Look! This guy has a dick!" It's just quietly and almost innocently sitting there, waiting, and you know that it'll be there and active whenever you want it but never when you don't.

It's comforting too. It's all him, and it's always been him. In the hundreds of years I've known him, it's always been the same. Even when people didn't bathe too often it was still there, warm and clean and sweet and safe. Whenever I'm scared or uncomfortable, all I have to do is hold him and take a deep breath and that scent calms me down. I do it sometimes even when I really don't need to. I'll come up and grab him at meetings or whenever I see him to give him a big hug, and even though he squirms and huffs I hold him for a little longer than necessary just so I can savor the way he smells (he tells me I don't savor anything, but he don't know shit).

But really, the time I love doing it the most is after sex. He always lays curled up on his side, sometimes facing me, sometimes away from me and waiting for me to curl around him. I always take a minute once I'm sure he's asleep to bury my nose in his hair. That's the time he smells the best because then I not only can smell him, but I can smell me too. Then I can fall asleep with him and know for sure that he's mine.


	2. Hard as Velvet

This is probably gonna sound weird, but England is really, really, _really _cuddly. I know, I wasn't expecting it either! I was expecting "come now, old boy, keep a stiff upper lip. I do not have time for your shenanigans. I have to go drink tea and burn scones. Pip-pip, tally ho!" or something like that. But no, as soon as we started going out I started seeing a whole new side to him. Instead of the stiff, "Hello America," that I'd been used to, the first time we saw each other again after we started being a couple, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me right on the lips. That's right, right in front of the whole damn world! He only said hi _after _that, and he called me a puppet. A _puppet. _Yeah, he might have had his hand up my ass a few times, but that doesn't make me a-

Um, forget I said that.

Anyway, it's been like that ever since. He likes to hold hands whenever we walk somewhere, and if we ever sit down it's like his hand is magnetically attracted to my knee. I'm not gonna lie: Sometimes it feels weird. Part of having more space geographical than Europeans means you like more personal space, you know? But I- I sort of like it. It's great to be able to look at him whenever I want and see that bright smile that's for me and only me. His hand feels almost as good in mine as his lips do against mine. And it's fun sometimes to see the jealousy on other nation's faces. A lot of them want me for my status and just as many want England for his bedroom skills (which, I'm telling you, are pretty fantastic), but they can't have us for that kind of crap. We have each other for a lot more than that. I think that's why he's so affectionate with me. He doesn't have to be afraid of getting hurt. He knows that no matter how much we try we can't force ourselves apart. Since that's true, we can both get over ourselves and enjoy simply being together.


	3. After Saratoga

England sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't understand it. They had been doing so well. And now… now he'd lost so badly that that bratty upstart was probably going to get France as an ally. Everyone knew he'd been trying for years. Too many of those rebels liked the frog for it to be any other way. England would be able to outlast America easily, but America _and _France? He set his head on his desk over the map covered with blue and red markings. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he'd anticipated.

There was a knock on his door. He sat up and brushed his hands down his front to straighten out his shirt. "Come in," He said.

Canada stood there, much cleaner than he had been a few hours ago but looking just as distraught. He twisted the hem of his shift, as he had since he was a child.

"_Me and Canada had bad dweams!" America shouted, tugging on England's britches. Tears were running down his face unabashedly. He was so small that England could easily pick him up with one arm and grab Canada in the other. _

"What is it?" He asked, looking away so his face couldn't show his ward his emotions

"He's not gonna come back, is he?" Canada asked, "And even if he does, it won't be the same, will it?"

"It'll be alright. We'll make it through."

"_Ssh, hush my darlings. It's alright now. Your dreams can't hurt you." _

"But England-"

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, turning back to Canada. "I'm doing what I can."

"_Are you suwe we'we safe?" Canada asked softly. _

"_Yes. Nothing can hurt you while your big brother is here, alright?" _

"There has to be more! You have more men than this! Come on! We have to bring him home! We've got to-"

England stood and wrapped his arms around his boy.

"_You suwe?" America asked._

"_Of course," England said, leaning over and nuzzling him, "Nobody's stronger than me." _

"_I'm gonna be stwonger than you when I gwow up!" _

"_I'm sure, love, I'm sure." _

"I can't promise you this will be easy. I can't even promise you that we'll win. But I can tell you one thing," He looked at Canada sternly, "I will do whatever I can to make sure everything's alright between you and America."

"But what about you?"

"_But what if it's a big scary monsew?" Canada asked, "What if even if you win it huwts you weawy bad?"_

England's answer was the same as it was all those years ago, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"But I do," Canada said, "Even if America doesn't, I really do love you."

"I love you too, my sweet," England said, kissing the top of his head, "But it'll do neither of us good to worry for tonight. Go to bed."

"_Engwand," Canada asked in an even smaller voice than usual, "Can we sweep with you?" _

Canada wore the same expression as he did that day: lower lip between his teeth, eyes wide with sorrow and fear, face pale, hands gripping his shift's hem tightly. How could he send him away after that?

"Unless, of course," He said softly, "You'd prefer to stay tonight."

Canada's face lit up, "Can I?"

"Of course. It is starting to get rather chilly at night, after all."

Canada smiled softly and the two went into England's bedroom and climbed into his spacious bed. Canada made himself comfortable in the same position as always: laying next to England with his head on the right side of his chest. England's left side felt light without America weighing it down, but he ignored it for Canada's sake.

"You promise to be here later?" Canada asked.

"I promise to be here forever," England said, placing a kiss on top of Canada's head before blowing out the candle.


	4. There's a Reason for the Dress Code

Really, this wasn't my fault. I shouldn't have bloody been there in the first place! I ought to have been on the other side between El Salvador and Equatorial Guinea. It's not as though I _chose _to be labeled as the entire country and forced to sit next to you. Why the hell did they make us sit alphabetically in English anyway? There are plenty of other languages, you know, and in plenty of them I'm not forced to sit next to such an infuriating-

Oh, stop whining. It's your fault too. Who the hell wears jeans to a world meeting, anyway? I don't _care _that they're comfortable, even though I can't imagine that they would be: they're completely skin tight!

I am not calling the kettle black, that phase was forty years ago. And mine were leather, thank you very much. And what's more, I didn't get aroused in the middle of meetings!

Yeah, right, "jeans make fake boners." Bollocks. That bulge was much bigger than it usually is and-

Yes, I've looked before, we've h-had sex, you idiot! But y-you never really gave me a chance to appreciate you like that. You were wearing proper trousers all those times, remember? My god, it's so beautiful like that: just barely hidden, when I can't see your cock but know it's there and waiting. Were you thinking of me? I hope you were, because catching it out of the corner or my eye certainly made me think of you. I was almost as bad as you were by the end. I just couldn't stop thinking about you and that fantastic cock of yours. It's so beautiful. I don't even need it inside of me, at least not right away. I just want to look at it first, see it swollen and red and dripping just a tad. Then I want to take it in my hands and feel it, hot and practically thrumming with vitality. Then I'll kiss it all over, get you dripping wet. I'm not as fond of blowjobs as you, but I'll take it into my mouth for a while before finally letting myself sink on and-

Oh,_ lovely_, the meeting's starting again. Maybe after this I can take you back to my hotel room. That is, if you give me some more to look at this time around.


	5. Mine

When England awoke he and America were nothing more than a tangled pile of sweaty, sticky limbs. He groaned in annoyance, why was it that they both always forgot how uncomfortable waking up in that state was? Then again, maybe snuggling and talking in the afterglow and falling asleep still intertwined was worth it.

Of course, England wasn't thinking about that while he was trying to peel himself off of America and not having much luck. It probably didn't help that he had one arm under the oaf's body and the thigh in the death grip of America's legs. He resigned himself to the fact that if he wanted to get out of the hot, smelly embrace he would probably have to wake his lover. With a sigh, he wrenched himself free and got out of bed.

America muttered something unintelligible and opened one eye.

"Hush, love," England said as he leaned down to kiss his temple, "I'm just going to take a shower and make some tea. You can sleep a while longer."

America hummed softly, closed his eye, and snuggled back down into his pillow. England wandered over to the bathroom, still in the light haze of fresh consciousness. He turned the shower on and waited for it to warm up before stepping under the spray. He sighed happily as the water massaged away all of the aches that had arisen from his bizarre sleep position. Thank God America had that massaging shower head. It was so warm, almost like being back in America's arms, but with less sweat clinging to his skin and morning breath in his face.

Eventually, though, he had to actually get clean before he drove up America's water bill too much. He had his own soaps set up already, but he decided on a whim to use America's instead. Then he stepped out of the shower and began to dry himself off. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair and even briefly considered shaving. But then, he realized, why bother? They weren't going anywhere today and he doubted that America would shave on a lazy Sunday. It wasn't as though dealing with a lover's stubble for one day was difficult.

He wrapped his towel around his waist and went back into the bedroom. America had repositioned himself in the center of the bed and snuggling with England's pillow. He had a dopey smile on his face and was drooling just a bit. England couldn't help but smile. How the world's foremost superpower could be so bloody adorable he'd never know.

England began to move towards his suitcase but realized that none of the clothes he'd brought were very conducive to loafing about all day. He went to America's dresser instead and rummaged around. He discovered a pair of large grey sweatpants and an even larger t-shirt with "North Dakota State University" written on it in big green letters. He slipped the shirt over his head and it went all the way to his mid-thigh. The fabric was worn soft. Most likely America had bought it several years back when he decided to buy clothes several sizes too big. He grabbed a pair of his own y-fronts (as cute as America found him wearing boxers, England preferred a bit more support and he didn't like the way they bunched up at his thighs when he put on trousers) before pulling the sweatpants on.

He looked at himself briefly in the mirror. Even though he liked to think that he'd reached the point with America where appearances didn't matter anymore, he wanted to make sure he wasn't too much of a mess. His hair was starting to defy gravity again and the neck of the shirt was so large that it revealed a good portion of his shoulders.

Good enough.

He went downstairs and turned on the electric kettle that America had bought just for him. Because he was feeling exceptionally kind that morning, he even started the coffee machine for America. He sat and blankly watched the coffee pot fill before realizing that the fact that it was Sunday meant that there would probably be a paper waiting on the doorstep. By the time he came back, the kettle was ready and he had a cup of tea as he looked through the news. It was all very nice and asinine. The local high school had their graduation the day before, the farmer's market that would be opening in a few weeks had some improvements done, a nearby zoo's tigress had given birth to three healthy cubs, apparently the at least the local news section was avoiding war and politics.

England heard the shower start upstairs, signaling that America had finally gotten up. He took that as his cue to start cooking. As much as America complained about his food, England knew that he would never turn down a proper English breakfast. After all, whenever England came to visit America would have everything he needed right front and center on the top shelf of the refrigerator. Well, almost everything. He never did have black pudding, but England knew that he didn't like having that much blood sitting around. He did like bubble and squeak, though, so that made up for it.

He was just finishing frying the bread when America came into the kitchen.

"Good morning," He said without turning to look.

"G'morning," America slurred back, "I smelled frying stuff."

"That you did." He put two pieces of bread on each of their plates and brought it to the table. "I made coffee as well, but you've got to get that yourself."

America wrapped his arms around him from behind and set his chin on England's shoulder, "Come on, don't I get a real hi?"

"Of course you do, idiot." England turned to give him a kiss. Just as expected, he hadn't shaved either. "Happy now?"

"Yep," America said brightly, "Now I can have coffee."

"Because God knows you don't have enough energy on your own." England said, sitting back down with his tea.

"That's right." He came back with a large mug of coffee and sat in the seat across the table.

England rolled his eyes and decided to eat instead of validating him with a response. America followed his lead and began devouring his breakfast with abandon. He had finished everything by the time England had gotten to his eggs. He quietly drank his coffee. Even though England wasn't looking, he could feel America's eyes on him. It was when America's foot began caressing his ankle that he had to look up.

America was staring at him so contently, so lovingly that he almost had to look away again.

"Have I ever mentioned how cute you are when you eat?"

England blushed and swallowed so that he could scowl properly, "How many times have I told you? I am not 'cute.'"

"Yeah you are. But I could use sexy if you'd like."

"It's too early for that."

"It is, but you said you can't be cute. It's never too early for cute."

"You're such a sodding pervert."

America set down his cup and smiled at him, "But I'm _your _sodding pervert."

England couldn't help but smile back. He placed his hand on America's, "And I'm yours."

America intertwined their fingers and went back to drinking his coffee. England was using his bread to mop up all the juices on his plate by the time America spoke again.

"Have I ever taken you there?"

"Where?"

"North Dakota."

England looked down and smirked, "You're still staring at my chest?"

"No, I'm staring at _my_ shirt."

"I don't think you have," England said, letting him go free, "I know we've gone to South Dakota, but I don't think we've been to North Dakota."

"We should go there."

"What's in North Dakota?"

"Honestly? Not much." He laughed, "I think you'd like it."

England shook his head. America had such a bizarre desire for England to see every acre of his land. It was a sweet sentiment, to show England everything that he was, but with 3.8 million square miles to cover it wasn't an easy task. "Why do you have to be so big?"

"So that my clothes hang off you like that."

"What?"

"You know I like it when you wear my stuff. It's nice. Especially when you pick stuff like that that makes you look small and adorable."

"I am not small!"

"I know. You just look like it dressed like that. And you know what?" He took England's other hand, "Sometimes I like having my little boyfriend to protect and love. Like you said, you're mine and it feels good, you know."

England thought to all the times when America would grab his hand and drag him to the most childish things, his eyes sparkling like he was a child or when he would feel scared and alone and even though it broke England's heart to see him cry it was beyond fantastic when he made him happy again. "Yeah, I do."

They smiled at each other for a good few minutes until America got bored of sitting there and holding hands. He picked up his cup again and asked, "So what do you want to do today?"

"Let's have a night in," England said before taking a sip of tea, "I'm jetlagged and don't feel like doing anything."

"Sounds good. We can see if there are any good movies on Netflix, or-"

"America, I am _not _watching a show about Technicolor horses."

"But there's magic in it. You like magic."

England sighed, "Magic doesn't work that way."

"How would you know if you haven't watched it?"

"Trust me. I know."

America shook his head but smiled, "One day, England, one day."

"I'm sure," he said sarcastically.

"But we really can watch movies all day. We'll sit on the couch and snuggle and make fun of the terrible ones."

"I'd like that." England smiled back.

After another cup of tea and coffee, respectively, England cleaned up in the kitchen while America hooked up the wii. He came into the living room and sat on the sofa. America instantly wrapped himself around him, just as he had done to the pillow in his sleep (but thankfully with a lot less drool). England snuggled back, content to be owned in the best way possible.


	6. txt me

**A/N: **Just a warning, although I am including this in Snapshots there is is explicit sexual content, specifically sexting and masturbation.

* * *

It was a simple text that started it off.

"I miss you." England said.

America smiled and checked the clock. It would be about bedtime at England's place, wouldn't it? It was a Friday night, so he could have been drunk too, which only made it worse. He typed a response under the table to humor him, "miss u 2 babe"

He clutched his phone tightly in his hand so that no one else at the table would hear it if it vibrated. He hated these cabinet meetings. Most of the time he just didn't care what they were saying. The legal jargon went right over his head. He'd tried to learn at one point, but it was just so boring.

Really, texting England was a much more productive use of time. His phone went off again.

"When do I see you again?"

"next week"

"That's too long. I miss you too badly."

America was about to send him a text saying how it would be okay and a week wasn't really that long, but then he got another message from England.

"Let me show you how much I miss you." There was a picture attached and, after making sure no one was looking too closely, scrolled down to see it.

England was sitting in his bedroom. He was naked and his skin was flushed bright red. He had one hand on his thigh, spreading his legs so that America could see everything. His cock was swollen and already dripping precome. He had a big pink toy in him and America recognized it as one he'd bought for England as a present after he broke his old favorite on accident.

Suddenly his throat went dry. God, it had been an awfully long time, hadn't it? He coughed to get the president's attention.

"I um… I have to… uh bathroom."

Without waiting for a response, he stood and went as quickly as he could to the nearest bathroom. While he was walking his phone buzzed twice. He wanted to look more than anything but he didn't want to risk seeing England in an even more provocative picture and making him get hard in front of any official-types who happened to walk by.

It was only after he had found a single bathroom and bolted the door that he dared to peek at England's messages.

The first said "I'll give you a show" and had a close up of his dick. America couldn't help but think about how badly he wanted to touch it. He wanted to tease the foreskin, kiss it from base to tip, knead the balls gently as he slowly worked his mouth down-

He rubbed himself through his pants. He wanted it to be England's hand instead of his, but he had to work with what he had. He went to the next text, looking for more material.

This one was a shot from behind. The toy was gone, but England was spreading himself with one hand to show America how wide he'd stretched himself. Shit, now he wanted to put his fingers where England's were. He needed to feel those strong muscles clenching not in pain but to tease him, to show him how much he wanted more. It was only after staring for a good thirty seconds he realized that there were words attached.

"Which one would you like?"

"Wanna b everywhere," America typed, "I need at least 2 mes. Wanna touch you everywhere." He waited with baited breath until England sent him a reply.

"How badly do you want that?"

America scowled, not only was there no picture, but not even an erotic quote for him to play with. Didn't England know he was trying to get off?

It was then that he realized what England wanted. He shoved his pants down and looked back through the three pictures, pumping himself until he was as hard as England. He stood on the toilet so that England could get a good view and took the picture.

"That's quite a bit." England said. This time he gave America a picture of himself on the bed, his legs spread wide with the vibrator back in place with one hand on his phone and the other holding his balls.

"ur getting me off work. Dirty slut." He covered two fingers in liquid soap and eased them in one at a time. Then he took a picture and sent it to England.

"Your as bad as I am." England said. He had given up on posing and was just jerking off in earnest. "You keep sending pictures too."

By the time he had received the text he was pleasuring himself with both hands. He reluctantly pulled his fingers away from his cock, leaving only the ones buried in his ass. He held his phone near his face and took a picture so England could see his expression. "im close."

He set his phone down. He hoped that was enough because he couldn't text anymore. The images he had already received danced through his mind. He pretended that it was England's hands that were touching him in all the best ways, that it was England who was getting him off. England would have his desperate sex face on, the one he wore when he was about to come and he just needed one more- He crooked his fingers so that they hit his prostate just right and he came. He sat on the toilet with his eyes closed for a few moments until his phone went off again.

"Sorry for the wait. I had to finish." He had attached a picture very much like the first that America had received, except for the toy was gone again, there were streaks of come over his belly and thighs, and his pose was much more relaxed.

"Thats ok. I did 2." He stood in spite of the shaking in his legs and got as much of his body as he could in a mirror shot. "We hav 2 do this again." He closed his eyes again until he received another message.

"I agree. But for now, good night, America"

America was in the middle of writing his reply when he got yet another text.

"Oh my God!" it said, "I used 'your' instead of 'you're' back there! I'm so sorry. That's dreadfully embarrassing…"

America just chuckled and lazily finished the response, "Goodnight, baby. Remember that I love you."

"I always will, my love."

America closed his eyes and decided to rest until he felt like going back to the meeting.


	7. Hot

**A/n: **This was another short fic I wrote for the kink meme, based upon the recent terrible heatwave across the US. Somewhere between a soft M and a hard M for this one.

Hot. I'm so hot. There's water rolling down my skin, but it's not sweat. I can't sweat anymore. I haven't sweat in days. No, it's him, it's all him. It's dark now. There's a cool cloth over my eyes. He places more cloths on my chest, my belly, my thighs. Even being naked and covered in wet isn't helping. I'm burning inside. It's hot and I swear I'm dying and

"Hush, my love," He says softly, "Drink this."

He has something pressed against my lips. I open my mouth. It's thin and cool, but it's sweet and just a little salty. I don't like the taste, but I want it so bad. Eventually, it stops flowing. He pulls the bottle away and gives me another. I'm drinking that too, but now my stomach is so full it hurts.

I'm still burning.

"Christ, America," He says, placing his hand on some of the cloths, "These are hot already."

I'm barely listening. I moan instead. I'm too hot for words. He lifts me into his arms. His body's too hot, just like everything's too hot. I can hear his footsteps and breathing. He's trying not to get any on me. He knows that'll make it worse.

I smell chlorine. He's taken me down to the pool. He's walking into the water. I can hear his steps splashing. The water's getting higher and higher. I can't hear footsteps anymore, and now I can feel it on my back. It's cold. Nice and cold. Maybe it's too cold, but how can I freeze and melt all at once?

He walks deeper and deeper into the water until everything's under by my head. Now that he's just keeping me from sinking, he pulls the cloth from my face.

"Is that any better?" He asks.

I open my eyes. He's beautiful backlit like that. I nod my head and he sighs.

"But my insides are still hot."

"Inside? He asks, raising an eyebrow, "Can you stand?"

"I think so," I say.

He carefully lets me down. My legs are shaking a little, but I'm alright if I hold into the edge of the pool.

He gets out and walks away and for a moment I'm cold and alone. When he comes back, he's holding lube and a metal toy.

"This might help if it's internal." He says.

I nod. I'm more numb with the heat than anything, and I'm willing to try whatever he wants. It's cool. I usually complain when he doesn't warm lube up, but it's nice now, sliding in and out. He's spreading me with his free hand, but that's cooled down from the water, so it's alright now. It's slowly starting to warm and I tell him.

He nods and grabs the toy. I shiver, actually shiver when he puts it inside. I can feel the metal pulling the heat from my body. The ladder! That's metal too. It could help. I carefully make my way over and wrap myself around it, pressing limbs, tongue, whatever I can. More leeching. I sigh and moan. I can't help it. This is the coolest I've felt in a week. I don't even wanna help it, it's good. He knows he's done good.

His shorts float past and then I catch him out of the corner of my eye. He seems to like what he's getting. I rub against the ladder, trying to get more of my skin against the metal. I wait until he's done , and then I pull out the toy and fall backwards into the water. I swim up to him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you," I say.

He just smiles and kisses me back.


	8. Alone in the Woods

Prompt: Arthur and Alfred as Centaurs (from anon on tumblr)

Arthur was sure that he was going to die. He couldn't believe it. Running away from his tribe, and the first thing he did was trip and injure his leg. It was probably broken. In the village, they'd help a poor stallion back to his home and protect him so he could heal. Out here…

It was getting late, and he knew that the wolves would be coming soon. He couldn't help it, he started crying. He didn't want to die, especially not like this: alone and torn to pieces for some stupid carnivore. Then he heard voices.

"Hey, do you hear something?"

Great, that was even worse. So now he'd be taken into some filthy human city and put on display like some sort of freak. He began crying harder.

"Yeah. Sounds like someone's hurt. Let's go."

Arthur was sobbing too loudly to notice the falling of hooves instead of human boots.

"You think maybe he's sick, Al? I've never seen a centaur with spots before."

"He's probably just a different breed. He's little too, but he doesn't look like a colt. Hey, splotchy, are you okay?"

Arthur looked up to see two centaurs towering over him, and they were quite literally towering. their backs had to be nearly eighteen hands high and their torsos were another two feet or so above that. They both had pale yellowish fur that turned white and grew longer on the lower part of their legs. But in spite of, or maybe because of, their otherness they were the most beautiful creatures Arthur had ever seen.

"Hey, can you hear me?" the one with shorter hair on his head asked. "Do you even speak English?"

Arthur nodded, his brain beginning to process that maybe he wasn't dead after all. "M-my leg," He said. "I fell and hurt it."

"Ouch, that sucks balls. Let us take you to our village. We can get you fixed up, take you back to your tribe once your leg heals."

"Alright." Arthur said, not bothering to explain that he didn't want to go back.

The other two centaurs positioned themselves on either side of him and knelt. He threw his arms across their broad shoulders and they helped him stand. The one who had spoken to him first kept on speaking the entire way back. It was annoying, but at the same time sort of endearing.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

(word count: 405) Arthur is a British Spotted Pony, and Alfred and Matthew are both Draft Horses.


	9. Kindered Spirits

It was a beautiful summer day, not too hot or too humid. The park was full of people: couples, people with dogs, children, whole families. It seemed that the entire city had emptied out into the playgrounds and pools and wide open fields. He sat on a bench reading a well-loved paperback. She was running with her large, friendly dog. As soon as their eyes locked, as cliché as it was, each knew they had to have the other.

She approached him first.

"Hey stranger," She said. She had a fairly low voice, sweet as nectar in a slow southern drawl.

"Good afternoon." His voice was much lighter, a crisp London accent.

"I ain't seen you around here."

He laughed. "You don't sound native either."

"Yeah. I just moved up here from Georgia. Glad it was in the summer! I don't know what I'd do if I came here and there was snow everywhere."

"Ah, yes, I came across the pond in the spring. Cool and raining is more my forte."

She sat beside him on his bench. "What're you reading?"

"Sense and Sensibility."

"Jane Austin?"

"You've read it?"

"Yeah, it was required in high school. Kinda thick for me, but I liked it."

"Oh, it's so rare to find a woman these days with a taste for classical literature."

She laughed again, the sound almost hypnotic. "It's rare just to find a guy that _reads." _

"You know, I work in the bookstore café on Main and second. There's plenty of bibliophiles who frequent it. Have you ever been?"

"Can't say I have."

He smiled, "Well, why don't you come? I'll be there tomorrow and my shift ends at three."

"Hey, if you're propositioning me, I should at least know your name."

"It's Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

"Winifred Jones."

"Well, Miss Jones, is it a date then?"

"Only if you call me Freddi instead."

"Of course, Freddi." He took her hand and kissed it softly, "I shall eagerly await it."

She blushed slightly, turned, and ran off again with her dog. Arthur smiled to himself and turned back to his book.

Their next meeting was every bit as lovely as the first. They talked and ate and, God, if Arthur didn't know better he would say he was falling in love with her. They met again and again and each time she got a better grip on his heart. Their first kiss was nothing short of magic. Then she finally asked him in for a coffee. He'd been dreading the day, but still he obliged.

Thankfully, she really did start with coffee. Well, she made him tea just as he liked it – with a bit of cream and two sugars – but he didn't drink. He held it in his hands and let it warm them. He stared down into the cloudy liquid so that he didn't have to look at Freddi. Beautiful, angelic, Freddi.

When he looked back up, they both said, "I need to tell you something."

"You first," He said.

"No, you first."

He took a deep breath. "Well, I suppose it's probably better I go first."

He set his cup down and stood. He closed his eyes and murmured the incantation under his breath. His blond hair turned blood red, and wings and a tail sprouted from behind him. His inoffensive slacks and sweater vest turned into a crisp black suit. He ran his tongue over his fangs.

"I have to be honest with you. I'm an incubus. I planned to seduce you and steal your soul for my master. But now- Freddi, I-"

He cut off because then she started laughing. It wasn't her normal light laugh, but a really hearty, boisterous one. She was curled in over herself and Arthur watched in disbelief as she too grew wings and a tail, her hair becoming black as night to match her slinky cocktail dress. She straightened up, grinning.

"Artie, I was gonna tell you I'm a succubus and that I didn't wanna steal your soul either."

He smiled back at her and offered her a hand. She took it and stood and didn't her claws look wonderful in his?

"Let's go home." She said. "There's a great bar in the third circle. It feels so warm and toasty sitting there watching the mortals rolling in the mud under cold rain. On Tuesdays Cerebus comes by and rips apart some of them."

"Really? I don't often leave the second."

"Come on, do you never go out? Oh, Artie, I'm gonna show you how to _live." _

"You know, I think this could really be the start of something heinous."

"I think so too."

They kissed, nicking each other affectionately with their fangs as the fires came around them to whisk them back to Hell.

**A/n: **So here it is! Based on the prompt on Tumblr: "a story about a girl and boy who fall in love with each other at first sight and then the boy reveals he's an incubus come to steal her soul and then she reveals she's a succubus trying to steal _his _and they laugh and go get drinks together."

The third circle of Hell is for Gluttony, the punishment for which is described. The second circle is for Lust, where naturally the succubus/incubus headquarters is.


	10. British Invasion

Someone had broken into the house. England could feel it as soon as he entered. It was an old house, full of ancient energies and magic and something was disrupting it. He had a pistol near the door in case of something like this (America's manic fear of terrorism may have been catching up to him, but people trying to kidnap or kill a nation was nothing new and England didn't like it when _either _of those things happened).

Whatever it was, it was in the kitchen. He closed his eyes and sensed the alien presence, the disruption in the house. He knew the spots that would squeak if he put weight upon them and danced around them all. When he got close he opened his eyes, looking to see any sign of the invader. He heard shifting against wood in the- the laundry chute?

He began walking towards it, gun leveled at the door, ready to shoot.

"Come out!" He ordered.

The door swung open. "Hey, baby! It's me!" America said, crawling out. "I scared you pretty good this time, didn't I?"

Arthur put the safety back on and threw the gun at his head.

liechtensteinsbloomers - "alfred crawling out of arthurs laundry chute 'its me!'


	11. Childhood Dreams

"I'm gonna marry England some day!"

"Nuh-huh."

"Uh-huh."

"Nuh-huh."

"What do you know anyway, Canada?"

"I know that you're a little kid and England's an Empire."

"Well I know you're dumb. I'm not gonna stay a little kid, am I? I'm gonna get big and strong!"

"Yeah, but not as strong as England. No one's as strong as England!"

"I'm gonna be!"

…

"Yeah, keep laughing. One day you'll see!"

-0-0-0-

"My, America, how you've grown."

"Yeah. I guess I have."

"Downing Street is asking me to work more closely with you now, you know. Now that you're done with all of your silly phases."

"'Phases'?"

"Rough patches. You're an adult now, you know, by our standards. You survived a civil war and are healed up, and now you've taken quite a few colonies of your own."

"I guess so."

…

"Hey, England, you wanna get dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"Yeah, there's a couple of nice places around here. We can talk, um, talk about colonies and things."

"That sounds lovely, America."

"Suck it, Canada…"

"What was that?"

"O-oh nothing! Let's get going! Heh!"

"Yes. Of course. Let's."

I combined two, eh heh:

alfredfjonesing: never enough colonial america stories imo

thebrowneyedgirl97 Alfred has been trying to ask out his longtime best friend/crush Arthur Kirkland for awhile but his attempts never seem to work out right, but this time he's got a plan that can't fail!


	12. My Maid

Call America a pervert, because he'd learned from the best, but he loved seeing England in a maid outfit. He didn't know what it was, but it was hot. Sometimes he just wanted to frame him and stare at him. His long, lean legs were flawless when they were shaved and covered in fishnets, the muscles even more defined from the pumps he wore. The short, puffy sleeves showed off his delicate arms. The low neckline just gave a hint of his beautiful chest but framing his collarbones. But the best was the skirt, voluminous and just long enough not to show anything while still showing off every inch of his legs.

Often they'd make a big thing of it. They'd use human names, America pretending to be a business man and seducing the housekeeper while his wife was away. Sometimes they'd make it more demeaning for England and America would actually force him to do chores, often with a big vibrator stuffed inside of him.

But no matter how it started, it always ended the same. America would throw him on the bed and push his skirts up and always there was no underwear to be found. England would act ashamed and try to hide, but America would either convince him or force him to stop and then he'd just take and take and _take. _

After they were done,England would slip out of the dress and shoes and stockings. He'd kiss America again as his equal and lover and the game would be over until they dry cleaned the outfit to start again anew.

sgchan: "Mm, how about some crossdressing? Maid outfits preferably ;3"


	13. Skinny

**A/n: **These next few things were requests I got on tumblr because I was bored and needed something to write. Prompts near the end to avoid spoilers.

Never let it be said that America is the only one with body issues. He knows he's put on weight, and he knows no matter how hard he tries he's never able to lose it. But at the same time, he realizes that the BMI is made by voodoo magic and that part of the issue is that he doesn't have time to cook for himself like he used to. But for the most part he's okay. He isn't always happy when he looks in the mirror, but he likes to think he's getting better at accepting himself.

England, however, isn't always so happy with himself. He's always been fairly skinny. He remembers that from when he was a little kid. He'd run in on England in various states of undress at different times and notice the way his skin was tight against his lean muscles, how his wrists and ankles and even a few ribs were visible.

But at some point in the last twenty years, England had gotten it in his head that it wasn't enough. That he still wasn't skinny enough. He must have tried as many crazy diets as America himself had. And then when he realized that he _wasn't _changing (because he wouldn't until the people did. That's how it worked) he'd get depressed and try to hide his body and it was just really sad to see. So America did everything in his power to make him feel beautiful. Every time they were together he made sure to make love to him slowly, to kiss every inch of his body, to whisper gruffly in his ear how sexy he was and how he made him hard. He talked about his hands and his eyes and those slim thighs most girls in his country would kill for.

And the next day he'd usually catch England looking at himself in the mirror with a confident look on his face, preening and carefully doing his hair and dressing in flattering clothes and he'd feel like he did his job.

samsalthehero: "Something soft and sweet about a sensitive topic, like body issues (for either of them)"


End file.
